


Little Absences

by MoonySideDown



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst with a Happy Ending, Batdad, Gen, batfam, batfamily, discussion of death but no one actually dies in this fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-15
Updated: 2017-07-15
Packaged: 2018-12-02 16:54:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11513520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoonySideDown/pseuds/MoonySideDown
Summary: There's an empty seat straight across from him. A seat where a little boy used to perch each morning, wolfing down his breakfast like someone was about to take it from him. He would poke at his food with his fork and tell Bruce about whatever he was studying in school, or what book he was reading.A gaping hole sits in front of his face. A bleeding wound in his life where his second son used to be.Good morning, B.





	Little Absences

Bruce is walking down the stairs for breakfast.

 

He hasn't been able to manage more than the barest amount of food, but Alfred has been making him breakfast each morning anyway. It seems unfair to keep leaving it untouched. Besides, he has to start eating again at some point, he supposes.

 

So he drags himself down the stairs even though the smell of the fresh eggs and bacon is making his stomach turn, and plops himself into a chair at the table.

 

If Alfred is surprised to see him, he doesn't show it, simply sets a plate down in front of him. “Good morning, Sir. How are you feeling?”

 

Bruce should ask him how _he's_ feeling, but the words die in his throat and he can't summon them again. “Fine.”

 

The butler 'hmm's softly, rests a hand briefly on Bruce's shoulder, and then turns quickly away back to the kitchen. Dishes start clanking and shifting loudly in the sink while they're briskly washed.

 

The food smells fine. The table is set nicely. The sun beams in through the window.

 

He takes a bite of his bacon, manages to swallow without much difficulty, and is encouraged. He eats a little more, sips his orange juice, and gathers some of his egg on his fork.

 

He looks up.

 

There's an empty seat straight across from him. A seat where a little boy used to perch each morning, wolfing down his breakfast like someone was about to take it from him. He would poke at his food with his fork and tell Bruce about whatever he was studying in school, or what book he was reading.

 

A gaping hole sits in front of his face. A bleeding wound in his life where his second son used to be.

 

_Good morning, B._

 

He leaves the dining room so fast his chair falls to the ground, rushes down the hall to one of the big, opulent bathrooms that Jason had once called 'aquaman's vacation home', and everything he'd managed to eat comes right back up. Once he's done he punches the wall and cracks a marble tile.

 

It's been four days since Jason Todd died.

 

\- - -

 

Batman stands on a low rooftop. He's finally wrapped up the case he'd thrown himself into all week long. A human trafficking ring, focused on kids. They'd been plucking street kids right out of the shelters and alleys, shipping them off to who-knows-where. It's a bitter kind of satisfaction to watch the ringleader being shoved into a police cruiser.

 

Nightwing stands to his left, relaxed and satisfied and as cheerful as ever.

 

“Good work tonight, Nightwing.” Bruce grunts, not turning to look at him. He really does want to talk to him, properly, but he has no idea what to talk about with anyone anymore.

 

“Right back at you, Batman.” Dick smiles easily. “It's been nice, working with you again.”

 

Dick has been busy, running both the Teen Titans and the team at Mount Justice. He's grown up so much and Bruce feels like he's missed something. Wasn't he a little boy just a few weeks ago?

 

He wants to look over at his first son but he can't, so he watches the police milling about instead. “I'm sorry if I was short with you.”

 

“Were you? I didn't notice anything out of the ordinary.”

 

It's meant as a joke but there's a truth buried in the words that makes Bruce's chest feel hollow. He ignores it and turns his attention back to the scene below.

 

The ringleader, a human stain who kept the kids he stole in the basement of his suburban home, glares at the policemen while they start to help him into the back of a cruiser.

 

“It's not like anyone missed them,” he sneers, “just a bunch of trash no one wanted...”

 

Bruce doesn't remember making the choice to leap off his perch, to land among the officers and grab the man by the shirt collar. He doesn't remember flinging him to the ground, or slamming the handcuffed man's head against the concrete. Doesn't realize what he's doing until there's blood all over the sidewalk and the police are about to shoot and Nightwing is dragging him back by his cape and one arm.

 

The man isn't dead but he's definitely unconscious, and his face doesn't look much like his face anymore.

 

The police are staring at Batman in horror. Even Gordon, holding a hand up to signal for the officers to _wait, stand down, don't shoot_ , is staring in amazement at him. Nightwing hasn't loosened his grip at all.

 

Bruce forces his body to relax, and Nightwing lets go of him.

 

The police are still staring, the scene has gone deathly quiet.

 

On the ground, the man moans.

 

Bruce turns and launches his grappling hook into the city, swings away into the shadows.

 

It's been one month since Jason Todd died.

 

\- - -

 

The gala is in full swing in the manor's ballroom, full of music and pleasant chatter and laughing. The lights gleam off of the shining ballroom floor, the tiles reflecting faint images of the guests milling about the dance floor and mingling around the tables. There's a modest band in the corner playing something cheerful, and a handful of people on the dance floor smiling and laughing.

 

Bruce poses for a photo with the aged woman in charge of the charity he's supporting, putting on his winning 'brucie' smile and even dropping a kiss on her cheek to make her and her friends laugh.

 

When they drift away to greet the other guests he spots Alfred in the corner, smiling and making conversation with a pair of men about his age, and it makes him smile.

 

This entire evening has been going far better than he had expected. Few hiccups in planning, smooth setup and flawless execution. He finds that, despite all odds, he's actually enjoying himself. Nodding a greeting to a pretty socialite across the room, he grabs a flute of champagne from a passing waiter and sips it contentedly.

 

He's enjoying this rare moment without someone hounding him, when a movement catches his eye and he turns slowly to acknowledge it.

 

A boy is standing near the door, looking unhappy and uncomfortable in his suit, fidgeting with the sleeves and toying with his hair. It looks like his mother dragged him here, to an event with no others his age, and he doesn't want to be here.

 

He looks like Jason.

 

Bruce sets his half-finished glass on another waiter's tray as one passes, his eyes never leaving the boy's face.

 

His skin is darker than Jason's, his eyes brown instead of that teal blue. He's shorter, and skinnier. He doesn't smirk or raise an eyebrow at anyone.

 

But Bruce feels dizzy all the same.

 

“Bruce!” A man he recognizes as an investor in Wayne Enterprises booms cheerfully at his right, making him jump noticably. “Are you...all right there, son?” The man asks with a concerned frown.

 

“Yeah.” He answers immediately, glances one more time back at the boy who is, mercifully, looking less and less like his dead son each time he sees him. “Just...a little too much champagne. If you'll excuse me, I think I need to go sit for a moment.”

 

It's been eight months since Jason Todd died.

 

\- - -

 

Bruce walks down the stairs into the batcave, a mug of tea in his hand. He was forced to be at a meeting back at W.E., and left Dick in charge of working at the case they've been trying to figure out for the past week.

 

He's halfway down the stairs when he sees Jason.

 

Jason stands at the computer beside Dick, leaning on the panels, staring up at the screen.

 

The mug shatters on the stairs, ceramic shards and green tea flying all over. Bruce's legs won't hold him and he sits down on the stairs shakily.

 

Dick turns, and so does....Tim. Not Jason. Timothy Drake, the boy who found Batman. The boy Bruce took in a full month ago. Both boys rush to the stairs when they see him sitting there among the mess.

 

“Bruce!” Dick reaches him first, rushing up the stairs, carefully sidestepping the shards on the steps, sitting on the step beside him. “Are you all right? What happened?”

 

Tim stops a couple of steps below, looking at the tea dripping down the steps.

 

“I'm fine, Dick. It's fine. I'm just...tired.”

 

Dick's bright blue eyes stare into Bruce's with such intensity that he feels the younger man could see straight into his mind. But he doesn't push. Doesn't try to get him to talk right now. “Understandable. Maybe you should go get some sleep, Bruce. Tim and I can keep working tonight and fill you in tomorrow.”

 

Bruces waves him off, stands. “No. Fill me in now, we've already wasted too much time.”

 

Dick helps him pick up the shards, while Tim wipes up the spilled tea. All the while they go back and forth, filling him in. Alfred brings him a new cup of tea, and doesn't hide the concern in his eyes.

 

It's been a year and five months since Jason Todd died.

 

\- - -

 

“I think I found it, B.” Tim's voice comes from behind the computer, his legs all Bruce can see of him.

 

Bruce sits in the cushioned computer chair, raises an eyebrow and tries not to laugh at the way his youngest son wriggles out from behind the massive machine, his dark hair mussed and dusty.

 

He holds up Bruce's cell phone, his smile triumphant and a little lopsided.

 

Bruce takes it from his hand, reaching out to brush some clumps of dust out of Tim's hair, but the boy ducks away from his hand and finger-combs his hair quickly himself, mussing it even further.

 

_Time for a haircut_ , Bruce notes to himself.

 

“I _told_ Babs I could fit back there. She owes me an ice cream sandwich.”

 

Bruce raises his eyebrows, but Alfred speaks before he can.

 

“If you're so good at getting behind that computer, Master Timothy, perhaps you can be the one to clean behind it.”

 

Tim shrugs easily. “I could do that. It could use a dusting back there.”

 

Coming from anyone else it might have sounded like a comment on Alfred's cleaning skills, but the butler simply smiles and hands the boy a broom. “Be my guest.”

 

Bruce expects him to just laugh and put the broom aside, but the teen shrugs and squeezes himself behind the computer again. He turns in the computer chair and looks back at Alfred.

 

Alfred shrugs with a subtle smile. “Perhaps we should add this to his chore list?”

 

He smirks and shakes his head while Tim shuffles around, clumps of dust drifting out from the narrow space he's tucked himself into. A few other things drift out as well, old notes Bruce had taped to the computer to remind himself of little things, paperclips, a couple of gum wrappers. Shortly, Tim wriggles back out.

 

“Done! Piece of cake.” He says triumphantly.

 

Bruce chuckles to himself and turns back to the computer. “You're something else, Tim.”

 

“I even found snacks,” Tim adds, “how long do you think this has been back there?”

 

Bruce turns to glance over his shoulder.

 

Tim stands there with an unopened bag of chips, a candy bar, and a can of soda. The chips Alfred would put into Jason's lunch almost every day. A candy bar that Alfred would have refused to let Jason eat and that Bruce would have slipped to him as a special treat. The kind of soda Jason always complained that _Roy_ was allowed to have in the house, so why couldn't he?

 

His chest tightens so much it aches. One of Jason's food stashes. The boy had tucked food away all over the manor like a squirrel storing nuts for winter, a habit Bruce had never been able to get him to drop.

 

“Bruce?” Tim asks, frowning with concern.

 

He turns away from his third son, leans against the computer's panel, tries to take a deep breath, covers his face with his hands, closes his eyes and tries not to let himself fall apart.

 

“I'll take those, Timothy.” Alfred says gently, taking the old snacks out of a confused Tim's hands gently.

 

It's been three years and four months since Jason Todd died.

 

\- - -

 

Dick paces angrily around the batcave's floor, shaking his head like through sheer force of denial he can change what Bruce has just shown him. “It's impossible, Bruce. It can't be him.”

 

 

“I know it sounds...far-fetched.”

 

His son whirls around on him, glaring daggers at his face. “It's not 'far-fetched', Bruce. It's impossible. This guy might sound like him, but he's _not_. Jason Todd is buried, gone. He is _not_ running around Gotham terrorizing drug dealers and leaping off roofs.”

 

Tim is beside Bruce, leaning on the railing beside the computer, watching the proceedings in silence.

 

“I have seen impossible things happen, Dick. I don't know how this...Red Hood...could be Jason, but I've run the video through voice recognition eighteen times. Every time it says the same thing. And not just his voice, the way he talks, how he fights...it's familiar.”

 

Dick runs his fingers through his hair, looks over at Alfred standing shell-shocked on Bruce's other side. “Bruce I know you're still grieving over Jason, trust me, we all are. But going after this man because he _might_ by some ridiculous stretch of the imagination be Jason...”

 

Bruce stands abruptly, making his family jump slightly. “I don't need you to believe me, Dick. I'm going after him. Jason or not, he needs to be brought in.”

 

“You're crazy.”

 

Tim clears his throat. “I believe him, Dick. I mean...we've seen some crazy stuff in just the last couple of years. Do you really think that this is totally outside of the realm of possibility?”

 

Dick turns his attention to Tim and the younger, smaller boy flinches slightly at the sudden motion. Seeing his brother apparently afraid of him seems to cut through Dick's frustration with Bruce, and he sighs.

 

“What do you need me to do?”

 

“You and Tim need to stay here, out of the way.”

 

This time both boys gape at their father. He ignores their protests, rereading the files on this new Red Hood, making a plan. The gaping wound in his chest is back again, even though he'd thought it had healed over. He's back in that ruined warehouse, holding his son's broken body and pleading with him to come back. He can't fail him again.

 

It's been five years since Jason Todd died.

 

\- - -

 

Bruce wakes in his bed, gasping, sweating. His shoulder, bandaged and recovering from being dislocated on patrol that night, aches. His mind is muddy and his head aches. Panic edges his vision, while the phantom smell of smoke drifts through his nose.

 

He kicks his blankets off and grunts at the flare of pain from his shoulder, then turns to grab his phone off of the nightstand. He doesn't remember dialing but he hears the tone that says it's ringing. What time is it? Does it matter?

 

“Do you have any idea what time it is, B?”

 

The knot in Bruce's chest releases the moment he hears Jason's voice on the other end of the phone and he almost sobs. He settles for letting out a breath instead. Finally awake, he realizes he doesn't know why he called. He doesn't have any words.

 

“B? What's up?” Jason sounds mildly grumpy but not groggy. He was awake when Bruce called.

 

“Jason.”

 

“Are you all right?”

 

He closes his eyes, several emotions hitting him at once. “I...” he swallows over a dry throat. “I just wanted to hear your voice.”

 

There's a long, buzzing silence over the line while Jason seems to absorb that. “Are you okay, Bruce? Should I come down there?”

 

“It's fine, Jay. Everything's fine. How are you? Are you all right?”

 

Another pause, not as long as the first.

 

“I'm...I'm fine, B. Just fine.”

 

“Why are you up so late? You should be asleep...”

 

It's been one year since Jason Todd came back.

 

\- - -

 

Bruce walks downstairs, taking a breath of the warm scent of breakfast. He's halfway down the hall when he hears laughter in the dining room and pauses, tilting his head curiously.

 

He rounds the corner into the dining room and stands in the doorway, taking in the scene before him.

 

Tim sits at the table, still in his pajamas, a bite of pancake speared on his fork but forgotten while he laughs, a snort escaping him and making him laugh harder.

 

Dick is across from him, covering his mouth to stop himself from spitting out the milk he's drinking.

 

Jason sits in Bruce's chair, laughing with his head resting in one hand.

 

Alfred turns to acknowledge Bruce with a smile, holding his plate. “Good morning, Master Bruce. Did you sleep well?”

 

Jason, teal eyes gleaming with good humor, turns to look back over his shoulder at Bruce while his brothers are still laughing. He smiles.

 

“Good morning, B.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> I don't usually write angst but this concept came to mind at work and...I couldn't put it down. Thanks to @princessnightwing on tumblr for reading this for me and screaming about what a horrible person I am for writing it! Love you! <3


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